


Adjusting to the Light

by Bluandorange



Series: Happiness in Death [2]
Category: Hades (Video Game 2018)
Genre: Asterius not noticing bc he has no point of reference, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Study, Charon mentioned in passing, Dehumanization, Hades and Persephone banging nymphs mentioned in passing, Implied Hades/Theseus (Hades Video Game), Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Insecure Theseus (Hades Video Game), Learning the ways of man, M/M, Murder, Pining, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Canon, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Hatred, Slow Burn, Speech Disorders, Theseus doing a poor job of hiding he's a very gay furry, Thirsty Theseus (Hades Video Game), Trust Issues, forging fraturnal bonds
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-16
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-18 01:55:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 17,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29481822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bluandorange/pseuds/Bluandorange
Summary: When it became clear he couldn't escape the human's arms yet again, his passion bled away, leaving him limp and pathetic there, pressed into the sand. The human released him; he cannot say how long after, as this is when his memory begins to crumble into fragments.He thinks...he thinks the human wasn't pleased. It spoke to itself, walked around him and he didn't listen to its words.Then the human...grabbed him? Pulled him. And he hadn't fought. He hadn't listened, either--he should have listened; it could have been explaining things. He could have listened, and learned what it said to bargain for his passage onto the ferryman's boat.--The Bull of Minos is brought to Elysium by his murderer and begins the long trial of acclimating to an afterlife as one of the exalted; a great oddity among great men.
Relationships: Androgeus son of Minos (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore); & Asterius | The Minotaur (Hades Video Game), Antigone (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore) & Theseus (Hades Video Game), Asterius | The Minotaur & Theseus (Hades Video Game), Asterius | The Minotaur/Theseus (Hades Video Game), Hippolyta of the Amazons (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore); & Theseus (Hades Video Game), Oedipus (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore); & Theseus (Hades Video Game)
Series: Happiness in Death [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2165487
Comments: 54
Kudos: 159





	1. The Bull awakes

**Author's Note:**

> This is a direct continuation from the previous work in the series, [Gnawing at himself to pass the time](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29010315). While mostly a chance for me to explore Asterius' journey from feral reject to calm and sturdy champion, I do intend to take this into burgerking shipping territory. And also hit some beats I haven't seen in other fic, yet. Here's hoping you like it!

He wakes up in the shade of a giant sword, wrapped in the softest cloth he's ever felt. It takes several dozens of breaths for him to fully process each of these facts. That there is enough light to cast gentle shadows. That he is blanketed and comfortable. That, before now, he had been _sleeping_ .  
  
He can see the sky from where he lays, one eye shut against the cushion of grass, the other pointed up towards cloudless daylight. One end of the sword, the dull end, looms above, the only blemish against the blue-white heavens.  
  
It doesn't make sense.  
  
He...should be worried. Shouldn't he? That things do not make sense. That somehow things have changed, and yet...he feels so numb to it. Or. Or, no, numb is not the right word.  
  
...is he...content?  
  
Is he too content to worry?  
  
He doesn't want to move. Or think. He wants to lay here and stare up at the sky, even if it means gaining no answers to his questions.

...so he does. He remains, quiet and content, and nearly thoughtless, and it barely feels like a choice at all. It simply--he simply _is._

Time passes, though how much time he cannot say. He may sleep more, he isn't sure. Things don't feel entirely real, and it's not in the way he's used to. The... _wrongness_ of being on the shore is gone. His body feels solid, more real than he's ever remembered it being. Perhaps more real than it was when he was alive. It's his mind, now, that rebels.  
  
Things still don't make sense.  
  
They...haven't. They haven't for a while, now, have they? Had he forgotten? 

...yes. Well, sort of?  


Can you really forget something that never felt real to begin with?  
  
He thought it all so impossible, yet here he is, able to smell grass. And flowers, still grounded, still alive. Able to see the sky.  
  
It's difficult to remember, it's all so disjointed, but eventually his curiosity gets the best of him, and he tries. He lies here, now, trying to tease fact from dreams, and finds it a frustrating process.  
  
He thinks back further, and further, until he remembers something he knows to be true.  
  
He was on the shore of Erebus. He knows this. It's been his fate for so long now, it may have been his home longer than the hallways. He was on the shore...and a human man made of light came. And the light-man insisted it knew him. It insisted it had _killed_ him. It didn't sound like the young man in his memories, except it did. The pitch was different, but the sound--the way it spoke, it was very much like how it was at the start, when the human dropped onto his shoulders in the crossways. Loud voice, almost melodical, but with a sour twinge of pride. Yes, both the young man and the light-man sounded like this.  
  
The light-man insisted they try again. It wanted another fight.  
  
He did not agree. He simply threw himself forward and tried to funnel all the awful, _hateful_ feelings he'd been imprisoned with out _at_ the man. Through his hands and mouth and horns.  
  
He was pinned in little under three breaths. 

Thinking back, that defeat still feels so...damningly clear in his mind. Like the emotions were simply waiting for him to return to them. Even blanketed and bathed in sunlight, remembering makes his heart grow cold with...just the awful _confirmation_ of it. The sudden solidifying of his most ugly conviction; that he was simply and truly lesser. That his life and death have gone exactly as intended. Life was not cruel, he was simply undeserving of a better place, of anywhere near the light.  
  
When it became clear he couldn't escape the human's arms _yet again_ , his passion bled away, leaving him limp and pathetic there, pressed into the sand. The human released him; he cannot say how long after, as this is when his memory begins to crumble into fragments.  
  
He thinks...he thinks the human wasn't pleased. It spoke to itself, walked around him and he didn't listen to its words. His thoughts at the time were too big and heavy and _painful_ to allow space for anything else. And what right did he, a beast, have to play at understanding humans?  
  
Then the human...grabbed him? Pulled him. And he hadn't fought. He hadn't listened, either--he should have _listened_ , it could have been explaining things. He could have listened, and learned what it said to bargain for his passage onto the ferryman's boat.  
  
When it urged him to join it, there, beside the ferryman, he came very close to understanding what was happening to him. And he didn't believe it. It couldn't have been real, and he felt convinced of that, even as he sat down in that boat, across from the human made of light. He felt convinced it wasn't real even as the boat left the shore and they were brought toward the far away torch light, past a forgotten garden and, off the boat, into a large, bright hallway. He felt convinced this could not be, as he was dragged before a giant human who, in hindsight, was likely the Lord of the Underworld _himself_ , and he and the human--who was no longer made of light, but a mere man now, blond and bronze and bearing its teeth far too much as it spoke--conversed, about what he cannot say, as he doesn't remember a word of it.  
  
He doesn't think he felt anything when the bright hallway was suddenly a bright and lush field. Then the field was a pool of water, and his mind was empty, but the water felt nice.  
  
The human had tried to touch him, then. Not his arm--how it had been directing him from one impossibility to the next--but his face. The attempt drove a spike of fear through him with enough force that it finally dispelled the fog. The world sharpened into clarity, and, while still _impossible_ , began making enough sense for him to follow.  
  
The human...was worried. It spoke gently. It reassured him that it was not intending to hurt him. He was just so dirty, it said. And there was so much of him, so much hair, it simply wished to help in the washing. Surely he would feel best when clean.  
  
...and then it. It _waited_ until he gave it permission.  
  
He remembers being afraid, despite the promises. He remembers feeling so divorced from reality, this fear did not stop him from giving the human what it clearly wanted. He remembers thinking that its voice was actually...quite pretty, when it wasn't bellowing. Its fingers were very gentle, and the water very soothing. At some point, his hunger left him and his exhaustion softened until his eyes grew heavy.  
  
That's when he must have fallen asleep.  
  
...it's all so impossible. Even sorted, properly ordered, he can't believe it.  
  
...can this really be his world now? His--

H-his...life? His afterlife?  
  
...if it is, he'll have no choice but to live it.  
  
This thought settles him, some. The terms of his life have always been beyond his control--he did not choose the hallways, he did not choose the shore. So it continues. If he is to stay, it will come to pass. So too if he is banished once more to darkness.  
  
There is nothing for him to do but be.  
  
Here, now...simply 'being' is the easiest task in the world. 


	2. The Bull begins to understand

Time flows gently, here. It slips past with or without his notice. He suspects, though, that it isn't long before the human finds him again.   
  
"Awake, are you? Marvelous!"   
  
It is being  _ loud _ again. Perhaps he'd just imagined the soft, kind voice from before, while in the pool.    
  
It continues to speak, and every third word it uses is one he's never heard before. Despite its shouting and its flashing teeth, it does sound...pleased.    
  
Things continue to not make sense.    
  
"Up, my friend, up; let's have a look at you!"    
  
He allows it to usher him to his feet, but no further. It attempts to pose him, and he jerks his arms from its grip. Fear flashes in its eyes, but then it flashes its teeth, throws its head back and laughs. It mocks him.    
  
...perhaps rightly.    
  
"I merely wish to draw your attention--my friend, look and see the radiant, healthy luster of your coat! The rippling muscle there beneath! These are the gifts of your new home; you are as you were always meant to be, here, under the light of Ixion, within our blessed fields of Elysium!"    
  
Following the human's motions, he finds, to his wonder, that the human speaks the truth.    
  
His coat is...perfect. The bald patches--from scars, teeth, nervous scratching and pulling--are gone. His fur lays, clean and shining, over arms larger than he ever known them to be, ending in hands he barely recognizes, no longer knobby and thin, no longer little more than skin pulled over bone.    
  
So it continues; no matter where he checks, he finds an unfamiliar body. Clean, strong,  _ fed _ . Healthy.    
  
A thought--a  _ possibility _ strikes and his hands fly to his face, a heart he no longer has leaping at the hope--   
  
But no. No, the muzzle is the same. The ring, the horns, the ears. Different in so much that they are as unblemished as the rest of him, that the fur is clean and soft.    
  
Of course he is still a beast--what an idiot he is; he's covered in  _ fur _ . That alone should have kept that  _ stupid _ thought from forming and. And making him  _ want _ .   
  
"Doubtless, this pleases you!" the human yells. It's an easy and welcome distraction from his own thoughts. He forces his attention onto it, as it continues; "I, too, am relieved to see this come to pass, as it, truly, it was an absolute  _ injustice _ to see what you had been reduced to upon the shore of Erebus!"    
  
...reduced to? He. He was the same wretch he's always been. Does...it not know how Erebus works?    
  
"Entirely unbefitting of your," the human gestures at him with its hands, up and down, and he's no idea what it's trying to tell him. "Your glorious spirit! A disgrace to your memory! As  _ I  _ remember you to be!"    
  
He thinks of correcting the human. But, no. There is no point.    
  
"You agree, yes? Come, come, you are so quiet!" It tips toward him--it means to touch him again, he readies himself to push it away--and abruptly it rocks back, hands jumping up to its own breast, then back to its sides. "Tell me you agree?" Its eyes are darting around his face fearfully--no, not afraid...nervous? Expectant, like before, in the pool. "You needn't hold your tongue; I know you're as fluent as any other son of Crete! I welcome your thoughts, friend, were you only to share them with me!"    
  
...it finally stops. It gives him room to reply.    
  
...he tries to wait it out. He doesn't want to talk. What is the  _ point _ ? There is none! None but his own mockery. His clumsy slurring pitted against the fast, musical voice of this human and its pretty words. The comparison would be damning. What more proof does it need that he is its lesser?    
  
...that it chose to bring here.    
  
It brought him here.    
  
He is here by its choosing, and if he is not good, it may choose to send him  _ back.  _ _  
_   
Fear grips him as he realizes the possibility his actions  _ could _ jeopardize his new-found afterlife. If he's wrong again, chooses wrong, acts  _ wrong _ , he will lose this place in the light.    
  
So he should answer it. He should, but his mind is blank with fear. He knows not what to say.    
  
"I--....I forget myself!" the human shouts, suddenly. He startles, tensing hard enough, his phantom muscles ache. The human turns from him and laughs. "This is all still so new for you! Doubtless, your silence is a product of you simply adjusting to your change in circumstances! I will not pressure you, then! You will share your opinions in time, and I will be here to listen in earnest!"    
  
"Why?"    
  
His question surprises them both. He'd blurted it out, unthinking, tongue loosened by dread and so,  _ so  _ many questions.    
  
The human blinks its large, bright eyes before stammering, "Why what, my friend?"    
  
Gods, where to  _ start? _ _  
_ _  
_ "Why…me?"    
  
He's nearly certain he's asked the wrong question; the human's immediate reply is to throw back its head and laugh. Again.   
  
"A clever jest! 'Why you', indeed! As if there were any other! As if any could compare!"    
  
The human hits him--not hard, just two taps of its open palm against him, as high on his arm as it can comfortably reach.    
  
"Why? Because you are the Bull of Minos, my one and only true rival! And your place is here, with m--with--" It sputters but for a moment, then flashes it teeth and continues on as if it never faltered, "among the rest of our kind!"    
  
"Our...kind," he repeats numbly. It compares itself to him. Favorably. It--it believes he has a  _ place _ , has…   
  
"Great warriors! Here, to enjoy battle eternal!"    
  
It takes him a moment to understand. Once he does, he can't help but laugh.    
  
Of course. His use to it is battle. Of course.   
  
Finally, things begin to make sense.


	3. Theseus requests another match

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A chapter from Theseus' POV! While this is still a story about Asterius and Asterius' struggles to become Asterius, I do think seeing what's going on in Theseus' head is fun now and then. Break up the angst and inner turmoil a bit, y'know? Neither of these idiots have the full story. And...I got to basically gush about how great our bull-man is. Look, the 'useless gay furry tag' was not an exaggeration

The Minotaur's laughter is rich and deep, rolling through the air until it catches inside Theseus' chest. Hearing it warms his blood and leaves his head light.    
  
He was right to do this. He knew he was right, he'd known he  _ had _ to rescue the bull from the shore back when he was prisoner himself in Tartarus, but oh. Oh, he had not known what a  _ gift _ it would be, to hear the bull laugh. He had not heard it once, not  _ once _ in those countless hours he spent trapped in that damnable pillar, waiting for his endless rotations throughout the many chambers of the underworld to bring him back beside the Styx, straining his ears, anxious for any sound from the Minotaur to make its way back to him. 

He only remembers his own laughter within the labyrinth, in his youth. A fool's laughter, quickly quieted by a clever foe.    
  
Oh, but he  _ aches _ for just such a challenge, now. And the bull has gone from silent to jolly at news he will have new battles awaiting him! So surely-- _ surely _ \--   
  
"Yes, my friend, rejoice! For here, your unmatched might will be celebrated! Might I have  _ never _ forgotten." Theseus grips the bull's bicep--by the Gods, his hand barely closes a third of the way around it! Truly a physique unparalleled among mortal men!--and while he flinches again, the Minotaur does not try to dislodge Theseus as he had before. An improvement! "Now, we are once again evenly matched! Fight me, as you once did! When we were both young and living! May it be as glorious as it was then!"    
  
Another silence stretches between them as Theseus waits for a reply. The bull is still as stone beneath his hand, head lowered to regard Theseus, who in turn is searching the noble, bovine face for any hint of a reaction. Only the bull's ears move, tilting up and forward, then back again at an uneven pace. Doubtless a reflection of the bull's thoughts! Were Theseus only able to understand their movements, he may have some way of knowing what words his old friend is considering, now.    
  
And this consideration is taking so  _ long!  _ The years on Erebus' shore have made the bull so indecisive! Theseus remembers utter confidence in his posture, in each move the bull made to best him, back in the dark hallways of the bull's lair. Every decision made so quickly, as quick as the bull himself if allowed space to run. What speed--Theseus has never encountered its match. He still has dreams of throwing himself around corners, trying to outrun the Minotaur, still awakes with a pounding heart even now, as a shade with no heart at all.    
  
"You would do me this honor, won't you?" Theseus asks, unable to take the silence a moment longer. For another, he might have played at being less desperate, at hiding the desire coursing through his veins. Now, now he is honest in ways he has not known himself to be in years. Decades. The idea of bringing artifice before the Bull of Minos is unthinkable. 

"Yes," the bull says. Beautiful words! Word. But beautiful nonetheless!    
  
"I thank you!" Stepping back, Theseus unfastens the gold rope from his waist, shrugs the cloth from his shoulder and tosses both pieces to the ground. He had been naked in that maze of Daedalus' design. The bull stands naked before him, now. Now, again, they are evenly matched.    
  
"Come at me! And hold nothing back!"    
  
He had asked for similar treatment back in Erebus. He hadn't been thinking. He had been struck dumb with relief, having finally  _ found _ the bull, finally laying eyes on him again after nearly a lifetime apart, and he had not thought to take count of the Minotaur's poor state, nor of his own enhancements, gifted by Elysium. Twas not until he had grappled the horns, kicked the feet out from under his opponent and sat himself, there, atop the bull had it become apparent just how much death had stolen from the son of Pasiphaë. 

It was over so quickly, the submission near instant. The bull's form had shuddered, a great anguished sigh expelling all the air from his lungs, and fell limp. This bovian titan who had once shouldered every blow, tried every ounce of Theseus' grit and courage until his dying breath, had been brought so low, here, in death, that he could muster no pride to fight beyond the very first defeat. For but a moment, Theseus could almost feel the despair blanketing the spector.

He'd thought, then, of soothing the bull, of reaching out to touch the filthy, matted black hair spilling out from between his horns, tangled around his neck and shoulders--but then he began seeing the ground between them, through the bull's very  _ back _ . The bull had begun to fade, growing rapidly more transparent, there, as Theseus watched, and Theseus threw himself off him in fear.   
  
For several agonizing breaths he'd been sure he'd killed the bull again, somehow, and knew not what that meant. Where did defeated souls go to when untried by Hades, with no infernal parchment bearing their name? Theseus prayed it wouldn't be far, and that he had not--had not done enough to permanently damage what should have been a soul unmatched in strength and vigor. He prayed souls killed in Erebus came back  _ at all. _   
  
He had begun to fret aloud, then, but soon the bull's solid form returned, and sooner still they had boarded the boat of Charon and set sail to the House of Hades. There, Theseus  _ made sure _ he would never have to see such a ghastly sight again.    
  
There is really no comparing the poor beast he rescued from Erebus to the spirit who stands before him now. The bull before him is  _ magnificent _ . Standing in the presence of his marvel fills Theseus with a sense of true rightness, and more, a sense of heavy nostalgia. 

Theseus knows that before, when he was younger and the bull still alive, that the Minotaur was not a well tended to captive. He remembers feeling patches of bare skin, remembers gripping oily hair and wrestling with dirt caked hands and feet. He remembers the stench of the labyrinth and oppressive, filthy musk that clung to the bull's fur. But still, in his memory, the Minotaur was incredible. Worthy of fear and awe. Terrible in the way the sea is terrible. Terrible like the intervention of the Gods upon their mortal parents, the great impossible acts that brought them both into this world.    
  
Theseus had been certain the bull's afterlife would be better, here, in Elysium. He had not thought to expect the realm would elevate the Minotaur beyond the pedestal he inhabited in Theseus' memory.    
  
He had not prepared himself to find the bull the very epitome of masculine beauty. 

Oh, what Minos had robbed the world of when he banished his shame away to the dark recesses of a cold, empty labyrinth. 

...admittedly, Thesus is somewhat distracted when the bull does decide to heed the request and begin their fight. 

Theseus manages to catch himself, feet scrambling until he finds enough leverage to press himself back against the hands attempting to pin him to the ground. The bull is  _ powerful _ , and even with his god-given strength, Theseus knows he's only managed to slow the inevitable. The bull will take him to the ground. Thankfully, what he has in power, the bull lacks in technique. Theseus cannot muster enough strength to overpower the bull, but the bull does not know how to stop Theseus from twisting free.    
  
And so the true fight begins. Much like their first meeting, this is a race between Theseus' knowledge of warfare and the bull's untrained eye but unmatched instinct. What a  _ hero _ he could have been, this marriage of man and beast! All that deadly, primal power at the disposal of a keen human mind. He was deserving of songs, not a life and death in abject solitude! 

The once king does  _ try _ to curb his thoughts and only focus on meeting the Minotaur act for act. It's just  _ difficult _ . Theseus' whole body feels alight again, burning with exertion and apprehension. He is so grateful! And as the current focus of every inch of the bull's power, he simply can't stop himself from appreciating his form!

But, their duel cannot go on forever. Theseus would gladly have them locked in competition for the rest of eternity...but despite his hopes, they are still unmatched. With some disappointment, he comes to realize he may have outpaced his foe in formal training by more distance than the bull can hope to close. While Theseus' simple maneuvers are quickly learned and thwarted, more advanced techniques seem beyond the bull's means to counter. After slipping from his grip in the same way for the third time, Theseus retreats several steps, enough to buy time to address his opponent. 

"You are as strong as ever!"    
  
The bull's first reply is heavy snort and a shake of his head that sends his newly washed mane flying around his face and shoulders. This reads to Theseus as frustration. And yet, frustrated though he may be, the bull does not come charging for him. The Minotaur stays poised to grab for him again, but must also see something in how Theseus holds himself that makes him wary, enough to respect the distance placed between them. See, how attentive! How aware! No doubt a perfect student, if only given the opportunity to prove himself thus!   
  
"And just as observant! I need not tell you there are ways in which you may improve, as I cannot fathom it has gone beyond your notice how I've managed to break your hold on me in ways you have not the means to stop! Worry not! We shall begin your lessons this very moment, as how else are we to be as we were, and meet in contest as true equals!?"    
  
The bull expels another rush of air--this one strikes Theseus as more like a sigh--and very slowly straightens out of his ready posturing. "Lessons," he repeats, sounding almost incredulous. He does not take Theseus at his word? Has his trust really not yet been won!?   
  
"But, of course! You have the instincts of a great warrior, my friend, but were cut down before those instincts could be honed to proper deadly sharpness!"    
  
The bull once again falls still in all aspects but his ears, which swivel back and forth between unintelligible positions at a remarkable pace. Theseus promises himself he will learn to decipher these movements! Surely they are honest reflections of his inner feelings when the bull guards all other means of discernment!    
  
"It would be my greatest joy to share this knowledge with you," Theseus assures him.    
  
"...to be. Equals." The words are pronounced slowly with surprisingly terse diction. This leads Theseus to believe it is not the concept that eludes the bull, but a greater respect for the beauty of the spoken Greek that slows him in responding. Understandable! It cannot be easy speaking with such a mouth! Most would assume the bull incapable of complex speech, but such disrespect would lead them to folly!

Theseus himself has not only heard the bull speak, but sing! Admittedly always at a distance, but he's heard it all the same! 

"Indeed! It simply will not do, me lording my years of practice over you, pretending any victory I may gain to be a fair one! How are we to know who is the better in that way? How are we to relive those glorious hours spent locked in mortal combat?! We shan't, of course! So I see no other course but to teach you myself! Thus we continue forward toward a true and level playing field!"

The bull nods, slowly. While he'd settled on his reply much faster this time, Theseus can't help but take note of the Minotaur's continued hesitation. What is it that makes him so cautious in his replies? How much has his ego been wounded?

Oh, but he has agreed! And in time he will regain the confidence befitting a man of his aptitude, Theseus is sure of it! He need only be given opportunity. And support! 

"Come, then! We shall begin at once!" 


	4. The Bull is taught his weaknesses

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> definitely a chapter where the characters decided where we were going, ignoring my dang intentions. Aint it always the way. IMO it always makes the story better, even if it takes a little longer to get to events than intended. Hope you like it! Thank you so much for the comments and kudos! They keep the writers block at bay, and I'm so very grateful.

It surprises him, how easily he grows to enjoy the human's lessons. How quickly. 

There is nothing he can compare them to. It is not right to call them 'gentle', and yet these lessons in combat involve so little pain.

There is a rhythm to it he comes to find comforting. The human explains in its loud, wordy way what it will show to him, and then it takes his hands--gently--and arranges them on its own body, to its satisfaction. On its arms. Neck. Back. Legs. Then it slowly guides him through imagined battles. It shows how and why his hands can fail him. Why his thumb is weak, and can be targeted to ruin his grip. How his joints will betray him when twisted thus. That his body will fight for balance first and strategy second, and when it is best to trigger this response to gain an advantage. The human explains how to exploit these weaknesses. It warns him his strength cannot be all he relies on.

It says he is smart and resourceful, and that once he knows these things, his greatness will know no peer.

He doesn't ask what a 'peer' is. He is still trying to decide if it means what it says, if it really believes he is 'smart. As in smart for a beast, or--? 

It hasn't called him beast, not once. He remembers it calling him 'monster' back in the hallways, but it hasn't used that word, yet, either. Only 'friend', which...is a word he learned on the shore, but he thinks it must mean something else, here. (Because it must.) Still, it talks to him like it expects him to follow its words with ease. As frustrating as it is, he...likes that.

He still remembers the hollowness that overcame him when he lost to this human in Erebus. The certainty that took root in him, then, that he was its lesser.

It was not that long ago, and yet...now, he is not so sure. 

He is afraid to trust this human, but…

Were he a dumber beast, he thinks he would. Because it is...quite kind to him.

It says nice things about him constantly. 'Compliments' him. His actions. His body. He wishes he didn't react so strongly to the words, but he can't control his hunger for them, nor the pride that starts to stir in his chest, especially when he knows he's actually done a task  _ well _ . When he understands what he's shown and proves thus to the both of them, he is proud of himself. Its words add to his pride.

He doesn't like how much he likes that. He shouldn't trust it. It could be lying. He wouldn't know. It could be intending to--to use words to control him. It could be intending to trick him, somehow.

He could make the mistake of trusting it, and it could use that trust to hurt him.

He won't let it do that. He can't.

...He doesn't like how much he likes touching it, either.

It gives him so many opportunities. Every new lesson involves long stretches with his hands on it, barely moving as it speaks. It wasn't a problem at first, but once he notices how warm it is, he cannot  _ stop  _ noticing. It's not a normal warmth, but one that makes his skin tingle and the fur raise along his arms. One that makes his chest...do...something. Something he doesn't understand, besides that losing it hurts, and he indeed loses it when he takes his hands away. 

Once, it places his hand on its head, against its hair, and he learns its hair is as soft as it is shiney, and then he does not want to take his hand away. The thing in his chest seems to grow, and he doesn't know what that means, and that scares him, some. That it has this effect on him. That it gives him urges he knows--thinks--is unsure he should act on. It has to correct his grip several times because he is holding too loosely; he is afraid he will give in to his urges and begin to stroke its skin.

He thinks--he isn't sure, because nothing feels 'sure' in this place, with this human--that it strokes _ him _ a few times. That it is not just sliding its hand against his fur in search of the right place to grip. It is both brief and not, and he fears he may just be imagining it because he thinks its something he--the thing in his chest may want. 

He does not like that he thinks he likes that. Or would like that (he may just be imagining). It worries him that the liking only gets stronger when it pairs those touches with its compliments.

It makes him remember how its hands felt in the pool of water. When it washed him. When it worked its fingers through his hair, slowly. Carefully. Like he was something it feared to cause pain.

He begins to worry about all these things he may like too much. It notices. It points out how stiff his posture is. It asks if he is tired, hungry.

He is neither, but he lies. It believes him. He is relieved, knowing it is not so smart he can't trick it if he needs to. It must think he is dumb; it's so quick to believe everything he says. It's even quicker to believe what it wants to believe about him, which is dumber still.

As nice as he finds its praise, he thinks it might be best if he convinces it he's no more than a stupid animal. It would underestimate him, then. It would expect less of him and be easier to please. 

It would mean settling for a life as a beast...but once, long ago, in a time he barely remembers, he thinks he was expected to live life as a human. He failed in that. He will never forget the punishment it earned him.

(but he wishes he could. He wishes he could learn to be a proper man. Couldn't he be taught in the ways of man in a similar manner as he's being taught to fight? He could learn to speak better, perhaps even earn the things any man might earn, be it knowledge or status or--he doesn't even know. He doesn't know but he  _ wants _ to. He thinks he could do it. This might be his chance! Maybe--maybe the human does see him this way, maybe he can take it at its word…)

...This may be his last chance to live outside the darkness he's known. He can't  _ risk _ this chance by wanting impossible things. It's time he stops wanting impossible things. He is more than a beast, but not enough to be a man. There is so little he can control. If he can make things easier for himself, he should. 

He has no use for pride, anyway. Never done him any good. It's time he give that up, too.

The human catches him thinking; it startles him, and he catches its hand, only just managing to stop himself from crushing it with his own. 

(What a way to thank it for all it's done for him. After it'd been so gentle, his first instinct is still to cause it harm.) 

He is here for battle. It's what he's good for.    
  
He must stop  _ wanting _ impossible things.   
  
"Where do you go to, my friend?" it asks him. The oddity of the question helps him untangle himself from his stupid wants, and return his attention to it (and its body, and its hands).    
  
"Where--?" he repeats. He's learned that repeating it is a good way to ask questions. It likes to use words to mean other words, hiding its meaning inside, like the meat of shellfish protected by their shells.   
  
"In your head! You were so lost in thought that _ I,  _ of all people, was able to sneak up on you!"   
  
...so it does know how loud it is.    
  
And it is dressed, again. Must have done that while he was 'lost in thought'.   
  
"Come, enough hiding from me! If we are to venture into Elysium, we must first make you presentable!"    
  
It holds up the cloth he had abandoned earlier; the one he'd been wrapped in while asleep.    
  
"Kneel if you would; your height is quite imposing, but it is a hindrance to me, now that I intend to dress you."    
  
It intends to…  
  
He feels that numbness overtake him again; the same mixture of surprise and confusion that clouded his mind, before, when the human drew him from the sand after their battle and began walking him towards the boat.    
  
By the time he's realized he must pay attention or remain struck dumb, he is already kneeling in the grass. The human has arranged his arms, held out at shoulder height, and slung the cloth around him once already. He forces himself to watch it and not think about why this shouldn't be happening--how he is a monster, and has never worn clothes, but it is dressing him, like he's a man, like he's no different than it when he is so different,  _ so  _ different, why is it acting like they are the same-- _ he forces himself to watch _ how it gathers the extra cloth around his waist, pauses, then looks around on the ground until it finds a length of gold cord similar to what it has tied around its own waist.   
  
It begins explaining why the cord appeared--he is distracted by the knot it ties, and the feeling of it settling above his hips, and the weight of the cloth over his shoulder. Still; he retains what he thinks are the important bits of the lesson. This realm is unlike the others, in that it caters to those who live within it. The human wanted something to tie to his waist; Elysium provided. How it told this to Elysium...he has missed or it did not explain well.    
  
He surprises himself by realizing he will have time to learn later.    
  
He is...he is going to change. He is going to learn things and be changed by them. He has things to look forward to. He has a future.    
  
He--   
  
Is being guided to his feet. He gives his head a shake--he must stop losing himself to his thoughts! There is too much he does not understand, too much he could ruin by being careless. He must stay alert. He must protect this chance, this last chance. 

"Not to your liking?" the human asks, hand lingering on his forearm.    
  
Like this! He must be more aware so he doesn't inspire questions  _ like this!  _

"No. It. It is fine." Damn him, he even sounds nervous. 

"And yet you seem most irritated! Unless I am mistaken? I will admit, your mannerisms are unlike that of other men--"   
  
Other  _ men _ ? No--no he mistakes its meaning. Surely. It is saying he is unlike men, which is true. It's only speaking the truth.  
  
"--and I find myself at a loss to what they may mean or how they reflect your inner thoughts! A position I am not used to being placed in, truth be told, but it is not so surprising!" It suddenly flashes its teeth again, voice picking up in pitch and volume. "Of course  _ you _ would bring me endless challenges! And I will never falter! I will interpret your movements myself, and while at first I may fail, in time I will come to understand you as thoroughly as any other soul!"

He...does not know how to reply. The silence stretches between them, and. And while at first the human seems expectant for him to speak--a very common expression, as he still feels uncomfortable stumbling through words in its presence--it soon takes on a deep look of concentration, eyes affixed somewhere just above his own head.    
  
"Are you...hesitant? Unsure? I do not think that position reflects anger. No, it's not nearly alert enough to suggest that."    
  
Its assessment worries him. It's so  _ accurate _ . Before he can reply, it points to him outright and says, "Alarm! Yes?" The teeth are out again, eyes narrowing, voice growing pleased. "Did not think I'd catch on so quickly, did you? Ah, but you should know better than to underestimate me by now! Be on your guard! For I am  _ entirely _ invested in anticipating your every thought! And you should endeavor to do the same, only in the interest of uncovering  _ my _ thoughts, lest I best you in this arena, and it come to cost you later, in the arena meant for battle!"

This latest ramble has him right back on guard, indeed. The threat is plain, regardless of whatever the human throws in around it. It means to know him to best him. It means to learn how he thinks. Hidden thoughts. Shameful thoughts. The idea makes his chest grow cold.   
  
"Ah, and there is the readiness of one expecting a battle, but no, no be still, I meant not to provoke you. Truly!" Abruptly its tone of voice changes, goes softer, and it. It does, indeed, begin stroking his arm gently. "Truly, my friend, I have not forgotten your need for food and rest. We have all of eternity to come to know one another. I grow excited at the possibilities, at the glory we may find together, as proper rivals. That is all! Excitement for what may come to pass." 

While the numbness has returned, he knows he is already relaxing beneath that touch. His mind knows not what to do, but his body shows no hesitation. With no other options, he allows himself to accept this. While the comfort is soured by his doubts, it is still...pleasant.

"There, that's it." For once, the human closes its lips around its teeth. The corners of its mouth remain high, and its eyes pleased. ...he thinks it is much prettier, this way. "Ah, you really must forgive me. Your very presence makes me yearn for battle! But even the greatest warriors require rest now and then. In this, you challenge me to know  _ better _ , and I accept. Come." It's gentle hand closes just tight enough around his wrist to urge him forward. "We will retire to my quarters and return to our lessons another time, once you have tired of leisure."

It makes promises to him so sweetly. If only he could bring himself to trust them. 

Regardless, it is correct; they do have eternity to come to know one another. Assuming it keeps him here, at its side.  
  
The more time he spends beside it, the more he worries over the shape that future may take. It is utterly unfamiliar. Entirely unknowable.  
  
He has no choice but to live it. He knows. He _knows_.  



	5. Theseus makes mistakes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Added tags; Character death, murder, post traumatic stress disorder, canon-typical violence, and the names of several characters from Greek mythology, either arriving in this chapter, or mentioned with the intention of appearing later.
> 
> This is a long one, and writing it helped me solidify what I want to do with this fic, for both characters. This started out as just Asterius' story, but the more I write Theseus, the more I realize what parts of him deserve exploring. Yes, he's a fuckboi. Yes, he's desperate for approval.
> 
> So why in the fuck did he go and pull a monster out of the bowels of hell? That can't have been a very popular decision.
> 
> Let's explore those consequences, together, shall we?

Theseus had hoped their trip to his personal corner of Elysium would be uneventful, but woe, it seems even this meager hope was in vain, as they are met with opposition merely attempting to begin their journey! 

This foe is not one formerly of blood and bone, but presently constructed of bronze; the very door through which they intend to pass. It's presence seems to fill the bull with dread, and while The Minotaur does not voice what causes him to pause before the threshold, it is plain from his rigid posture that an unknown terror has taken him hostage. Theseus does try to reassure him. He does! But his words lack the comfort of properly addressing whatever fear now grips the bull's mighty heart. 

Despite his shortcomings, Theseus is able to coax the bull forward and into the chamber beyond.

There is no time to celebrate even this smallest of victories. That fear inside the Minotaur blooms into outright panic when the door rises up and locks shuts behind them.    
  
With a desperate cry, the bull throws himself at the door, clawing for a handhold with which to begin dragging the decorated slab of bronze back down again. It pains Theseus to see, as he knows the bull struggles in vain. The sword has fallen; the door is locked, and not even the strength of a divine bull will be able to wrench it free again.

"My friend, this is not a worry!" Theseus has to shout above the bulls grunts of effort and cries of despair for there to be any hope of being heard. "That door is closed, yes, but others will open!" While his height makes it difficult, Theseus begins the task of drawing those prying hands away from their hopeless errand. He is, of course, repeatedly and forcefully rebuffed. "It is locked; there is no going back the way we came, but that--"   
  
The bull shoves him away, hard enough to knock him off his feet. It winds him but momentarily, "--that is by design!" Theseus scrambles back up again and returns to his endeavour, intent on capturing one of the bull's flailing hands. "This place is always shifting! But it does not hold us captive, nay, if we continue on, through those doors there," he's managed to dig in his heels and withstand the battering, and now points across the way, to a near identical door, "we will be welcomed! Look! Look,  _ that _ door will open to us!" 

While he does not yet see true recognition in the bull's wild eyes, Theseus has succeeded in drawing his attention. Praying to keep it, he takes one of the Minotaur's hands in both of his own, pressing it to his breast. "Please, there is nothing to fear. I would not allow harm to befall you, I swear to you, I would not lead you into danger!" The bull continues to pant breathlessly, eyes rimmed with panicked white, but his ears lower some, and so give Theseus hope. "You are alright. You are. I swear it, I do. You'll be alright." 

Theseus transitions from patting and squeezing the massive hand he's won to stroking the fur of the forearm attached. Slowly, the taunt muscles beneath begin to relax in reply. "There. There, now, that's it. Breathe steady. That's right." Finally, to the relief of his very heart, Theseus sees true awareness return to the bull's countenance; in the tilt of his ears and head, in how his shoulders begin to rise. How he begins to draw into himself with such familiar regret, in a most recognizable, unquestionably  _ human _ shame. 

He will not let his friend feel ashamed of his reaction; no, Theseus cannot bear the thought of it, let alone the very sight! "There is nothing to fear, no, you were simply surprised! And I had not thought to warn you, but hear me, hear me now, dear friend, this is but a simple misunderstanding! While we reside in paradise, there are yet still much beyond our control. There is freedom, yes, and endless rooms to travel within our beautiful realm. The only limitation is that we must continue forward. See, there, the doors across from us, and there, in the distance?" He indicates the nearest exit, and then another, far down the strip of walkways beside the winding of the river Lethe. "Any of those we may pass through. It is only this door which we cannot." He indicates the offending entrance. The bull hears him clearly, following each motion of mouth and hand, a fact that settles Theseus' own phantom blood, the imagined pounding of which is finally beginning to quiet in his ears. 

"You are not a prisoner, here."   
  
…it is not until Theseus has said the words that he realizes the truth of things, the  _ most obvious _ source of the bull's fear laid plain. With renewed horror at this most painful of revelations, he grips that hand ever tighter and looks into the Minotaur's eyes as he decrees; "You are  _ not _ going back to that  _ awful _ labyrinth, nor will you return to the equally dreadful shore. You are  _ safe _ . So. You should let no fear find purchase within that noble heart of yours. You are one of the exalted! And the wonders of Elysium are yours to enjoy!" He smiles for his friend, makes himself an example to follow. All is well! And he is still very much excited to continue their journey. This setback, while upsetting, is already behind them! Truly there is nothing that can tarnish their good spirits! "What is all that against a single locked door? A small price to pay, yes? One you'll soon forget. Before you even realize it, this will be so commonplace, you will not even  _ notice _ the sound of the lock behind you!"   
  
A poor choice of words; the bull goes tense once again. Theseus raises his voice, as if he can speak over the worries he's so thoughtlessly revived, "It will hold no sway over you! Cause you no hesitation whatsoever. Oh, how quickly this will come to pass, now that you realize there is no true danger! No tooth, nor edge! You, who learns so easily and fears so little, you will make quick work of this, I am certain. A locked door may be dangerous, yes, like a hand or foot may be in certain contexts. But not always! And are you not strong enough, and clever enough to withstand that danger? Why, I should think so." 

He did not think he'd be pleased to be given that same neutral, nay, skeptical look he earned for his previous proclamations, outlining the noteworthy and most respectable traits of the mythical Minotaur. And yet, he welcomes this look now, in the wake of his dear friend's distress. The irony of this amuses, which makes his own tone playful, "Do you not believe me? Have I not been witness to both your strength and cunning, while in life, and now again in death? Do I not--Do I not wish you to enjoy this new home of yours?"   
  
Abruptly, his heart overtakes his words. His light tone hardens under a new conviction. Yes, that  _ is _ his wish. His truest wish. Again he looks deep into those dark, intelligent eyes as he continues in this impassioned tone; "Because I do. I very much do. I will do all that is within my power to ensure it. You have my word! You have a  _ King's _ word, do you understand?"   
  
He seems to have surprised the Minotaur with the strength of his convictions, if the sudden shift to his velvet ears are any indication. Theseus' resolve does not waver. Nay, it hardens into stone. "There is little that can challenge a King's word. And no King worth his title would  _ break _ his word. And so to you I vow; I will not break this promise. I will ensure you are happy here. I  _ will." _

The Minotaur is slow to reply, but the gravity of the declaration does not seem lost on him. Good. The weight of Athen's crown is great, and worthy of his respect. 

There are few facts Theseus must admit unquestionably elevates himself above this, his truest rival, and his station as King of Athens is one such attribute. It has never been a position he has taken for granted, nor wielded for personal gain. It was his very birthright, and yet the title has only brought him true pride when it enabled the salvation of those truly worthy of his favor.

These acts were--are--great acts. They are the only acts he will not allow himself to regret undertaking. No matter the consequences.  _ Damn _ the consequences!

Those who would disagree are either ignorant or heartless, and neither category are worthy of his concern! So it was with Oedipus, so it will be with the Bull of Minos. 

The shades of this realm may indeed believe they have heard the breadth and width of both tragic tales, but they oft' most gravely mistaken! Even whilst informed, they fail to appreciate the tragedy of those chosen by the gods to act as lessons in humility! They  _ cannot _ appreciate the  _ greatness _ required to give such tragedy it's punishing weight! 

They blind themselves to the true nature of such souls! And he will not bow before their simple-minded insistence there is no redeeming the cursed. No! Theseus, King of Athens refuses! To! Bow!    
  
He will be instead the light which illuminates the truth of the glory they insist cannot be found within such creatures; within this, the dreaded Bull of Minos. By his intervention, and by Lord Hades' infernal decree, Theseus will  _ show them _ the one they call 'monster' and allow the bull himself to prove their cruel assumptions wrong! 

They need only witness him! Theseus need only the opportunity to present to them this warrior most worthy of their respect, nay, their _ awe!  _ _   
_ _   
_

...is not a thought he should be approaching any doorways in Elysium with, right now.    
  
It's not wise, here, to wish to see one's enemies unless one intends to confront them immediately, right then, at that very moment. Through machinations far outside Theseus' capacity of understanding, Elysium is able to shift itself in accordance with one's strongest (presently held) desires. It is, assumedly, there to aid spirits in finding certain landmarks such as their own lodging, the Arena of Champions, the Deiform Amphitheater, an appropriate sparring partner, a cherished companion, or one of the many,  _ many _ parties in constant swing.    
  
Much like the party revealed behind the door they've chosen as their exit. 

This is not the first time Theseus' desires to prove himself to the masses has led him straight into their unexpecting arms, usually whilst he is, himself, burdened with a sour disposition, far too melancholy to suffer such rokous, numerous company. It has happened so often and with such frequency, he _really_ _ought to_ _know_ _better!_

But does he know better? No! No, he  _ never learns! _

He can  _ feel  _ the rictus falsity of his hastily applied grin. His very face aches under the strain of his hubris. Oh, were there only a way for his patron and assumed father Posiedon to take pity on him here, in this moment, and bring his sorry existence to its rightful end, sparing him of this, the fate he's so carelessly brought down upon his own head.   
  
Their heads.   
  
_ Their _ heads, oh,  _ selfish fool _ , it is not his own fate he should be worried about!

Had he not  _ just _ promised the bull safety?! Had he not  _ just _ vowed to see to his very happiness,  _ and yet-- _   
  
Already the shades gathered in the glade beyond have begun to gasp and cry out and clump together in shock. Theseus places himself between them and the bull, raises his empty hands and tries to speak above the growing den of confusion and concern. His pleas for calm, stillness, the immediate ceasing of all worry, are only barely louder than the ripple of recognition moving throughout the crowd, a growing refrain of "the Minotaur." Of "Monster".   
  
And then, oh,  _ then _ , someone begins to cry out for Androgeus.

There is no time to stall his arrival; almost as soon as his name is called, the Cretean prince appears, the swarm of shades parting to admit him passage. 

The prince's horror is plain, in both the tremor in his voice and the pallor set around his eyes. In the hand already closed around the hilt of the sword at his waist. "What kind of joke is this?" He asks.   
  
"There is no joke--" Theseus begins, and is quickly spoken over.   
  
"What reason do you have to bring someone here,  _ dressed  _ as the  _ Minotaur _ ? What  _ is _ this mockery?"    
  
What? A costume?! Surely he cannot be so dense! And how  _ dare _ he insinuate that Theseus would intend to deceive him in this way! This isn't even  _ about _ him! 

"This is no trick, prince Androgeus! Really, are you so blind you cannot recognize your own blood?!" 

This was the wrong thing to say. Insulting him is escalation--even though he insulted Theseus  _ first _ \--but more than that, it incites a fresh wave of fear throughout the room, crashing over the throng of onlookers, who in turn startle the bull, who in turn startles the prince.    
  
Burning with shame over this mistake, Theseus spins around to calm the bull. Oh, his poor friend, what a  _ terrible  _ introduction this is! How unprepared the bull is for such an altercation, how ready he holds himself, how certain he must be of a looming battle. The Minotaur flinches when Theseus takes his forearms, but he does not pull away, and while he does not lower his head to look to Theseus, his ears do seem to imply he is listening as Theseus tries to reassure him there is no reason to worry, no reason for any of them to fight.    
  
"How dare you," Androgeus spits, voice quivering with rage. "That  _ thing  _ is not my brother!"    
  
A new chain of cause and effect is triggered; Theseus turns to correct him just as the bull lets out a startled gasp of his own--or what Theseus would presume is a gasp, as the noise is unmistakably bovine--which causes the prince--   
  
\--who...had been trampled to death by the bull who fathered the Minotaur, hadn't he? Oh no. Oh Theseus had  _ forgotten _ \--   
  
\--to unsheath his blade and brandish it at them both, eyes gone wild with fear. 

Theseus steps backwards, winded by the realization of the  _ magnitude _ of his latest mistakes. With but one thought, he has carelessly subjected the Minotaur to an unexpected, unprepared and wholly unsympathetic crowd,  _ and as if that was not enough,  _ in so doing has allowed Androgeus to transpose his own grizzly murder onto the Minotaur, by mere virtue of faminal resemblance to the bull actually at fault. And just how much does Theseus  _ himself  _ resemble the jealous Athenian youths that had lured the prince into the bull's pen? Who had locked and barred his escape and ensured his demise?   
  
He steps backwards and into the bull,  _ physically _ feeling the huge chest behind him expand, drawing in the breath with which it replies; with a roar. 

This is where Theseus expects they'll be driven to bloodshed. Yet the fates smile, and the prince does not charge forth. No, the roar sends him trembling, retreating several paces, with eyes gone clouded with dread and memory, no doubt thrust back into the moment he heard a similarly voiced threat, followed soon by a most painful, gruesome end. 

This opportunity cannot be squandered! Theseus advances to establish himself more securely as a buffer between the brothers, hands out to each, staying their tempers,  _ beseeching _ their better natures _. _

It is while he is mindlessly spewing platitudes at both parties that salvation comes to rescue them all. 

Theseus has never been so happy to see a wife who so hates him.    
  
"Hippolyta!" he cries. "Come, I beg you! Act as witness and emissary, that we may avoid bloodshed, or the phantasmic equivalent of it, now. Your Amazonian strength is well respected and your--"   
  
"Ask what you intend to ask," Hippolyta demands, stepping forward as addressed. While her flinty gaze holds no warmth for him, Theseus can tell by her bearing that she is willing to, at the very least, hear out his request. 

"Escort us to the adjoining chamber, that I and my friend--"    
  
There is a reaction among the crowd, but  _ Theseus ignores it _ , he  _ does _ \--   
  
"--may pass unmolested. We intend no one here harm! And do not wish to befall any, and you are a warrior of great nobility and would not allow either party to breach a truce without consequence!"

Hippolyta's eyes cut to Androgeus, either seeking permission or otherwise gauging his reaction. Theseus can feel a very  _ physical _ vice loosening from around his chest when the prince's reply is a minute but definitive nod.    
  
"...aye," Hippolyta says. "I shall." She steps forward, into the no-man's land between the audience and their spectacle. Slowly, prince Androgeus crosses opposite her, clearing the way for Theseus and the bull to pass. Theseus begins thanking both profusely, then turns and motions the bull to follow. Now is their opportunity to  _ get the ever loving fuck  _ out of this  _ horrible mistake _ of an encounter. 

He urges the bull to trade him places and walk before him, so that Theseus may guard him as they make their retreat. They progress past Hippolyta, who's Amazonian demeanor masks any fear she may have for the Minotaur. Theseus thanks her, again. He receives a look that makes it clear he should have shown his gratitude by holding his breath. 

"I will find you again, brother." 

Theseus' heart jumps into his throat as a chorus of gasps is ripped from the crowd. The Minotaur's words are clear and deliborate. He regards his older brother with a most princely posture, his mighty shoulders squared and noble head raised high. The bull speaks for himself in this moment; there is no mistaking him, now, for a mindless beast. 

Theseus' heart is so full, he fears he may choke on it.    
  
It takes Androgeus several breaths to find his voice and reply; the Minotaur waits patiently. When the prince finally collects his words, none contain the respect of which his brother is most deserving. "You. Will not," Androgeus says.    
  
"I  _ will _ ," the bull replies. Threat returns to his posture and voice, the latter regaining enough animalistic shape to prompt his brother to raise his weapon. Truly possessing the heart of a warrior, the bull meets this challenge by advancing toward the prince, and now Theseus is indeed choked, not by pride but by fear. 

Hippolyta and he try to dissuade him, but there is clear and righteous indignation in his tone when the bull continues, "I have--I  _ want. Answers. _ "    
  
"Get  _ back _ ," Androgeus warns. He cuts the air, swinging across the last sliver of space between them. Theseus tries to drag his friend away, but there is no  _ moving _ him, he is as solid and uncaring as the carefully assembled doors of Elysium. 

Theseus is dragged forward instead as the Minotaur takes yet another step and bends into Androgeus' space to declare, "I _ want  _ my na--!" 

The last word is lost in a gurgle of blood, cut short by Androgeus, that most illustrious competitor, thrusting his sword into the bull's open mouth. Theseus can see it clearly, where it passes through the back of him and bisects the dark curls of his mane. Before the bull can fall, his soul-form dissolves into stardust. 

…

...Theseus has to be dragged away by his previous wife, and several more men besides, lest he enact his vengeance, disarm the murderer and cut down the fiend with his own blade. 


	6. The Bull revives

He wakes up drowning. 

The pool is shallow; he finds the surface quickly and claws his way to its bank. That's all he has energy to do. The weight of his situation pins him to the grass.

Nothing makes sense. 

One quick glance around him assures he is still in the--in--the name isn't coming to him, but it isn't the dark shore or the hallways. It has sky and grass, and he shouldn't be here, but he is. 

He is. 

Did--What he remembers, did it really happen? Or...did he fall asleep in the water, just after arriving? Did he only dream of meeting his brother? 

He must have. He  _ must _ have, as the dead cannot die again, surely?   
  
...but what would he know? He knows nothing. He knows  _ nothing _ , not even enough to guess. 

His brother may have killed him. For--for  _ nothing _ , for asking after his own  _ name! _

Is he so horrible? Was even that, that tiny request, a single  _ word _ too much to expect? It was, wasn't it? It was. 

He was so stupid, thinking he could make things work. That he could be anything but a beast. It is in his nature to break man's laws. It's why they put him in the hallways. It is in his nature; he has no place among men. 

...it isn't  _ fair _ . 

He just wanted--

He--   


Why--

Why  _ let _ him? Why let him want at all, why is he  _ like _ this? Why does he let himself be  _ like _ this?

Why did he ever wish to die? True, he had no way of knowing what would come after, but still, he should have been content. His life was not a good one, but it was his. The hallways were his. He  _ knew _ them, he  _ understood _ them. He shouldn't have wanted more than that. He shouldn't have expected he could handle more. 

He wants to go back. He wants that familiar darkness, he wants to lie against cool stone. He wants to know he is alone and that no one is coming, and no one will judge what he does with his time. He wants no one to see him and no one to care. 

How had he not appreciated that freedom while it was his? Why couldn't it have been enough?

He lays, muzzle dug in the grass, and cries.

For some time, he thinks he's just imagining the singing. 

His head is a mess; the stink of the meadow lingers in his nose, the hate and anger and fear that filled that tiny room so full of humans, all of them reeking of judgement, staring at him with their too-white eyes. He can still feel their eyes on his skin, licking at it like flame, burning through the lie of a healthy body and unblemished coat, seeing right down to the truth of him, seeing the filth and the bloodied muzzle and flesh pulled tight across his ribs and  _ hating _ him for it. All his mistakes carved into his skin and matting his fur. All the twisted parts of him that aren't human, that aren't like them. Things he cannot change. They saw it, somehow. Saw it and judged him and hated him for it all. 

And he's full of hate for  _ them _ , full of hurt and sorrow and  _ hate _ for the man who killed him, who brought him here and gave him hope and lied, and didn't stop his brother, if that even happened, he doesn't know, it didn't feel real, none of this feels real, he doesn't  _ know-- _

The singing is just more noise, all of it too much and so loud and  _ so _ outside his control, even though they're just him, just loud parts of his own mind. They're born of him and inside him now, and he's just too weak to handle it. He's just too stupid to know how. He's a beast, after all, a dumb beast, who shouldn't have been burdened with any thoughts at all. Of course they are too much. Of course having them hurts him.

He doesn't realize the singing is coming from a girl until he's run out of tears and finally tries to leave the pool. 

The shock of it--of crawling halfway out and opening his eyes, only to see that the empty place just to the side of him is now filled with a human shape--sends him backwards with a splash. His bulk sends water everywhere, far enough to splash the human, making it cover its face until the waves settle. When it brings its arms down, it--

...it has plants growing out of its head.

"I'm sorry," the girl says. Its voice is so low, but maybe that's normal. What does he know of girls? Humans always sound higher when they scream. "I didn't mean to--I. I thought you knew how close--I wasn't trying to sneak up on you, I promise."

He backs away from it slowly, reaching behind him for the opposite bank. The girl raises both hands, showing him dark, empty palms. "I don't mean you any harm, big guy."

What strange colors for a human. White in face with black stripes, a black spot over one eye and framing its mouth. More stripes and more spots down the rest of it until suddenly it's just black, from below the elbow down the rest of its arm. Is that...normal? Or is it sick? ...will it get  _ him _ sick?    
  
"It's perfectly normal," the girl says. "You won't 'catch' it, so don't--"   
  
He scrambles the rest of the way out of the pool and backs away, keeping it in sight, all of it, so it can't  _ surprise _ him and--and maybe he can figure out how it knows what he's thinking. Is it something he's doing? Is it seeing what the other human saw? What is it? How does he make it  _ stop _ ?   
  
"--...worry." The girl winces, as if in pain. "I shouldn't have done that, huh. I'm. Wow, I am just making the  _ best _ first impression."

Again, it shows him its hands and very, very slowly, begins to rise to its feet.    
  
"I'm just going to leave you be, now. Okay? I am sorry I've scared you. If you need anything from me, I'll be over there, under that tree."

She turns enough to motion behind her, drawing his attention to--

Whatever the 'tree' thing is, it's terrifying. It's huge and. And bright and he has trouble understanding its shape. Is it really so narrow at the bottom or are his eyes failing him? How can it possibly be so narrow below when it's so wide and tall at the top? And what is the top  _ covered _ in, is that  _ teeth _ , is that one huge open maw? Curling outward in a silent scream? Why would someone go anywhere  _ near _ that thing?!

"...oh honey, you're gonna break my heart. It's safe." His eyes jerk back to the girl; its face is doing something new, something he doesn't recognize. He doesn't trust the part of himself that wants to label its eyes as 'kind'. He is done trusting kindness from humans.

"...okay, so. Before I leave you be, you...died, didn't you? Someone hurt you, and you were brought here?"

...it happened, then? You can die even after you're dead? Oh. Oh, he hates this place.

"Uh-huh. There's a lot of pools like this one. For coming back. But people only get sent here if they need some peace and quiet."

'People'. Does it mean him? Why? What's its reason, what's it after?

"I just mention it," again, it shows him open, empty palms, "in case you want a safe place to stay. There's a lot of room here, in my meadow, and no one gets in unless I want them to."

"I did," he says. It didn't invite him. He showed up anyway. Clearly whatever's keeping bad things out doesn't work.

The girl's mouth tips up higher. Somehow, its eyes grow even kinder. "I know, big guy. Like I said; people who ne--"

"' _ People _ '." A fresh rush of anger yanks the word out of him. It can't be so stupid. It has to be doing this on purpose, and he doesn't trust it. It's lying and being nice to him so it can hurt him later.  


"...uh-huh. People like Nymphs," it touches its own chest, "and big bull men." It motions to him. He's already shaking his head. "I can call you something else," it starts. He speaks over it.

"Not a man. Beast." 

"Sure, honey. Big bull beasts are welcome, too. Beasts are closer to nature than humans, you know? And we Nymphs, we're nature spirits. Any way you slice it, you're welcome, here."

...is that. Is that true? 

If it is, this is where he should be. There's a place for him, and he's found it, without even meaning to. He's just  _ found _ it. 

...that's if the girl isn't lying. It could be. He doesn't know why it'd lie to him, but he barely knows anything, and the other human lied, so this one could be, too. He shouldn't trust it. He shouldn't trust it. He knows now he can die, worse that humans want to kill him. Does he want to be stupid? Just let it happen to him again?

...but it. It really doesn't look human. So maybe it isn't. It's human shaped, but its head is wrong and its skin is wrong and. And that'd make it more like  _ him _ . Right?

...there's a person like him. Right here, this is a person  _ like him _ .

The numb panic has set in, again. He doesn't realize it's caught him until the girl's touch shatters it. She tries to take his hand and he jerks it away. His movements don't seem to scare her. She's so much smaller than him, but her face is relaxed, and he can't smell any fear.

He doesn't know what it is she smells like, just that it's nice. It must be from the unfamiliar plants growing out of her head. They're bright, like large flower petals, each alone, growing on their own stem.

...he doesn't know why he can remember flowers. When did he see them, while alive? Who let him near? Was it the same time he played in the grass? He can't picture it. He can't remember if flowers were there, too. The memory is just the color green and grass smell and fingers curling down, down into wet dirt. Wet dirt pressing up under his nails.

...and hands? But too big to be real. Big enough to lift him by the waist. That couldn't have happened. That part must just be his own imagination.

When the girl takes his hand, he doesn't stop her.  


Her hands don't feel like human hands. It's the most reassuring thing he can think of learning.

She tells him her name, as they walk. "Leuce". She explains she's made of the same stuff as the tree up the hill. It's not got any teeth, the white things are just leaves. Like the ones on her head. The tree is a part of her, and the stream nearby is part of her friend, Minthe. They're both Nymphs. They're both favored by Hades, the Lord of the Underworld, and his Queen Persephone. That's why they're allowed so much space and why the rules work differently in their rooms. 

He grows nervous as he realizes just how much space there _is._ The walls of this new place have always been odd, but they were still  _ there _ . He could sense them behind the tall plants, see them behind the oversized weapons.This meadow is so different, just stretches on and on, the plants and prettily carved rocks sitting out in open air, dotting their path up to Leuce's tree. The door out is visible in the distance, but it is so far away.    
  
Leuce pets his arm and tells him not to worry. He finds he has a much easier time believing her.  


The tree is even bigger up close, all its leaves sticking out of long, spindly arms that feel like they're reaching for him. There's so  _ many _ arms, he's sure he couldn't break free if they caught him, but Leuce continues to coax him forward. The arms do not bend down to take him. They stay rigid, offering their leaves. 

Soon, Leuce has him sitting against the base of the tree, looking up at its heart. He understands it better, here. It's petal-like leaves are white on top but green on their bottom, so from below, it's much easier to tell it's just another plant. The arms stretch out and away like the strands of a spider's web. Pretty and complex. He could lose himself studying them, traveling their many branching pathways with his eyes. Its skin feels just like Leuce's. Its colors are the same. 

Slowly, he begins to relax. 

Leuce explains that since animals can't speak, nymphs just know what they're thinking. That way they can still communicate. That's how she knew his thoughts, before. 

"Can. Can you stop?" he asks.

She winces again. "Sorry. I would if I could, but no. I can't."

At first, he doesn't like that. It makes him nervous knowing she's always hearing him think--he thinks so much  _ stupid _ stuff, and she's just going to hear it all?--but then he realizes this way, he won't have to worry about speaking the words, and inevitably speaking them wrong. 

"That's true," Leuce says, nodding. "Though I'll miss hearing your voice."

That's a lie, he thinks.

"No, it's true! You've got this. This deep, rich bass going. It's really nice."   
  
It scares people, he thinks.   
  
"Oh, humans are scared of everything." She flicks a hand through the air like she's batting away some bug.

"Everything," he repeats, skeptical. The middle part slurs together, not matching how she said it.

Still, when her lips rise, it doesn't seem mocking. Her eyes tip up to find his; they crinkle around the edges and, to him, appear warm. " _ Every _ thing. Why, even Hades has all the mortals convinced he's sooo mean and scary." She rolls her eyes.   
  
He tries to remember Hades, assuming it was Hades he was brought in front of, after the ride in the ferryman's boat. The room had been big and full of confusing colors and shapes, and more light than he thinks he's seen since before the hallways. Everything smelled of blood and ash. He remembers a giant human--or human shaped person--with...eyes that were wrong. But it had been so hard to concentrate, there was so much to look at, the eyes are about all he remembers of its face.  


He does remember the voice, too. Not what was said, but how it filled the room and made him tremble. 

...he doesn't think the voice was cruel. It just...reminded him of something that now he can't seem to place. Something big, sudden and loud, filling the sky. 

"Thunder?" Leuce suggests.    
  
He shrugs. That could be what he's remembering. He doesn't know; he doesn't remember its name.

"...you didn't get out much, huh?" 

It takes a moment to parse her meaning, but once he has, it knocks a laughing sort of snort out of him. 

"...Never?" she asks.    
  
"Ever," he replies.

He doesn't know what she will see, but he thinks of his home, anyway. The hallways, dark and narrow, cut from stone. No sky, no grass. No way to leave. Just hall after hall. 

He pictures them, how they cross over in his mind, dividing like spider webs, like tree-arms, out and out in all directions. He thinks of how he learned to navigate them. How they were scary once, but now feel like some place secure and. And his own. He thinks of how to get to his favorite pond, the one with the sweetest water. He thinks of his favorite hall to run in. He thinks of his favorite place to sleep; the room where the moss grew. How soft it was. How it painted the walls and floor in different shades of green. 

...he shouldn't have thought of that one, it just reminds him of when the human found him sleeping, there. The chase that came after. How, eventually, it went from him chasing it to it chasing him. How, eventually, it killed him.

Leuce pets his arm again. She speaks softly to him as he tries to stop remembering. After some coaxing, he allows her to pet his muzzle and hair. It feels so nice; her hands smell so different. The rough texture makes her touch so satisfying. Slowly, he remembers less and feels more, until there is only her touch and scent, and his body curled forward into her space.

He tries to warn her, when her attention starts making him sleepy, but she shushes him and helps him lay down. 

He falls asleep with her fingers combing through his mane, his head pillowed in her lap.

He falls asleep feeling...safe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> its MY fanfiction and I get to decide how gay Persephone is. The answer is VERY GAY. Leuce and Minthe are very happy side pieces for both the king and queen and everyones happy OKAY. At least until Zag happens, then Leuce and Mentha get left on read, which they don't deserve, not at all


	7. Theseus is forced to listen

They drag him through one door, then another, then beyond that on past a third; a bald-faced attempt to complicate his journey back and dissuade him from cornering his prey. What _cowards!_   
  
In this tiny glade a bench awaits, shaded by statues and weaponry. Theseus is thrown upon this bench and kept there by a single foot; Hippolyta's, pressed threateningly against his groin.    
  
"No smart ideas," she growls to him. She denies him any opportunity to reply, immediately turning to snap at the nearest shade, one of the party members who've aided her in thwarting Theseus' well-deserved revenge. "You. Go fetch Antigone. Tell her--"   
  
"My lady, I've no idea who--"   
  
"Just hold her name in your mind until you find her! An-Tig-O-Ne. Daughter of Oedipus. Antigone." She imbues the words with a war-general's authority. "Tell her she's to come and collect the mad King of Athens.  _ Go _ ." 

'Mad King of Athens'? 

_ 'Mad King of--' _   
  
"How  _ dare _ you," Theseus spits. Her foot shifts half an inch and bares down, but he is too incensed to care, too enraged to hold his tongue a moment longer. "Is that what you've been calling me?! How long?! How long have you endeavored to sully your husband's name, Hipp--"   
  
" _ Silence _ ." Faster than a striking snake, her foot snaps up and swats his throat. While it winds him, as no doubt intended, it is little more than an insult. He  _ knows _ she can kick harder than that! She's bridling her strength! Outright refusing to engage with him as her equal!    
  
"You are no husband of mine," she continues, "and were it my choice, I would not speak of you at all, or hear of you, or think of you. I have no interest in gossiping about your ridiculous  _ stunts _ . But you…" A fine muscle her jaw flexes; a tell he recognizes as yet more restraint. "You bring a  _ monster _ here--"   
  
"He's not--" It hurts to speak, but he would push on to defend his friend. Alas, her hand finds him next, clamping down across his mouth, fingers tight against his jaw.    
  
"I said no more! Shut up, Theseus! Shut up and  _ listen _ _!"_ She shakes him before releasing her grip, perhaps in hopes to jostle some 'sense' into him, or to be more precise, a strain of 'sense' she would approve of.    
  
Were she to listen to  _ him _ , she would understand he is  _ very  _ sane, and very  _ sensibly pissed _ . And that--

That he does not have  _ time _ for this; it has already been several minutes, the bull will have reconstituted somewhere by now! Somewhere alone! Without Theseus to guide or protect him! For Theseus sits _ here _ , taken captive by his first wife, whom he very much regrets bringing into this, as she has proven herself  _ more _ than useless, did not even  _ try _ to dissuade Androgeus from readying his weapon, which was  _ all _ Theseus had asked of h--   
  
" _ Listen _ , damn you!" This time, she grips him by the front of his chiton to shake him.    
  
"Stop--!"    
  
"No,  _ no _ , you will  _ listen _ to me!" She takes his jaw again, forcing him to look at her as she shouts, inches from his face. "I'm not holding this  _ awful _ splinter of concern for you a moment longer! I'm expelling it! I'm ridding myself of it, you hear me?!"    
  
Have--when did her eyes become so wild? Is it fear he sees in them? Concern, as she says?   
  
Could she really care for him still?   
  
Hippolyta wags an accusatory finger in his face. "You will listen. You owe me that much."    
  
As recompense for what he's done, he would owe her this, and a hundred thousand more favors, besides. Guilt climbs up his throat. It takes his head from him, and nods.    
  
Hippolyta waits a moment longer, daring him to spite and deny her. He does not. Could not. After a slow breath, she begins; 

"You are ruining your own name, Theseus," she says. "Perhaps no one on the surface will learn of it, but you are  _ stuck down here _ with the rest of us, now, and--and you will have to suffer the consequences of your actions! For  _ Eternity! _ You cannot make your choices so--so  _ blindly _ _!"_ Her voice pitches--and he had been wrong, for it was not concern in her eyes but pity. 

The pitying horror of finding something wounded, too filthy to risk touching, too pathetic to close your heart to. That is what he has become to her. Something grotesque and sad.

"What were you  _ thinking _ ?" she asks, voice continuing to strain. She motions back, the way they had come, "bringing that--and  _ how _ _?_ Have you really earned and  _ wasted _ Lord Hades' favor on that thing--on pulling a fiend out of the depths of Tartarus?"    
  
"He is no  _ fiend,  _ Hippolyta!" He hates the sound of his own voice, the way his grief colors it, drawing it tight, high and reedy. But she always so loathed his artifice. He would gain nothing from her by drawing it back around him, now. "You heard him yourself!"   
  
"He's not the first monster capable of  _ speech _ , Theseus!"    
  
"He is  _ Worthy! "  _   
  
Damn him. And damn the way his voice cracks. He sounds like a child throwing a tantrum. He feels it, sitting below her, hands balled impotently into fists in his lap. Tears of shame prickle in his eyes. He is due to shed plenty in grief, for his poor, abandoned friend. For the honor he has lost, proving himself incapable of fulfilling but a single promise sworn.    
  
"And I deserve to be thrown before the Fury, Megaera," he cries, beating one fist against his chest, "for I have broken my oath to him! Not but steps away from where I swore it!" He's shouting at her now, shouting and rocking, jostling the hot tears free. "I swore to protect him! How are you so blind, you cannot see  _ that _ is my failing! That I am due no reputation at all if I cannot keep my  _ word!"  _

Even with his vision swimming, he is aware of the very moment she finalizes her verdict and finds him wanting. It is there, in the set of her shoulders. In how she steps away and begins closing herself off from him.

He will hold no place in her heart after this, of that he is certain.    
  
"Can you even hear yourself?" she asks.    
  
"Of  _ course _ I can!"    
  
"Theseus, you're talking nonsense. You--For Athena's sake, you  _ killed _ him your _ self _ . For  _ eating _ your countrymen!"   
  
Hot, explosive rage shoots him to his feet, so true and righteous, his voice lowers into a growl; "you know  _ nothing _ of that place. Or of how he was  _ kept!  _ Or of his tortures in Erebus! Nothing! Yet you  _ judge _ me for showing  _ compassion! " _   
  
"Compassion no one  _ asked _ of you! Gods, why are you like this?! At least the last time you stuck your neck out for some god-accursed wretch, it was actually understandable! At least that was a _person!_ At least  _ then _ you could pass the blame onto his daughter!" 

Antigone clears her throat. 

Who is to say how long she has stood observing their altercation; she wears the neutral mask of a queen, giving nothing away but the chilly implication of her judgement. 

Hippolyta raises her chin, too proud to take back a single word. She has made it clear, she is done with him. So then; he is done with _ her.  _   
  
"Antigone, we must find my friend at once," he says. It comes croaking out of him; with his righteous fury ebbing, he can feel how his throat threatens to bruise. He gives into the urge to rub at the worst of it.

"He means the Minotaur," Hippolyta says. No,  _ tattles _ is the word. Like his friend's lovely daughter is his  _ nanny _ come to fetch him and shelter him away from something dangerous he cannot possibly be trusted to handle alone.    
  
"He was  _ murdered _ before me, for the crime of asking after his own name. His  _ name _ _,_ Hippolyta!" 

His unloyal ex-wife throws up her hands and steps away, full lips twisted in exasperation. "He's yours. I wash my hands of this." 

"I  _ asked _ you to protect him! You agreed!" Theseus yells at her retreating skirts. She sticks to her word and denies him anymore of her attention, giving neither a moment's hesitation nor so much as a backwards glance as she exits the glade. 

He wants to scream.    
  
He will not, because despite all evidence to the contrary, he is not a child. 

"...You really did it?"

Antigone's steadying hand finds his shoulder. For once, he is grateful for the small amount of height she has on him, that he may better help himself to her offered support. A sturdy girl, smart and practical, taking so closely after her father. Why then does her voice hold such disbelief? Has he not proven himself, to her of all people, that he will see that wrong is made right, no matter the cost?

"Of course I did," Theseus says. 

Antigone sighs. He feels his heart sour toward her as well. Does no one understand? Will no one even  _ try ? _

"We go to fetch him, then?" she asks. 

The relief is small, but nevertheless acts as a balm against his growing indignation. 

"Yes. At once." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This isn't the last we'll see of Hippolyta, tho it will be a ways off before she comes back
> 
> I'm real excited to write more Antigone. This poor girl. Her whole life was making sure the dumb men in her family get buried properly and now that she's dead, she's like the only one patient and loyal enough to babysit Theseus
> 
> Anyway, next chapter is nearly done and it'll be a nice long one!


	8. The Bull talks with the nymphs

Sleep drips off him slowly, like water after a swim. 

He thinks, at first, it's wind he hears. Wind moving through petal-leaves. Wind knocking water up against stone.

Then the wind-sounds become gentle words and laughter. Soft and sweet, but made by people. 

Stranger still, he does not care.

"Beastie," one voice says. It's gentle, and low. A stick rubs over his muzzle, brushing against the way his fur grows. He sighs, because it feels really nice. "Mister Beastie, my friend is here. The one I told you about? You wanna meet her? Or you wanna sleep?"

He feels like he's dreaming. Only in a dream would human words feel comforting and safe. 

He shouldn't open his eyes, then, right? For if he does, the dream will end. It's a nice dream; he should just let it play out.    
  
The voice tips into a laugh, crackling softly like sticks coming apart in his hands. "No, you're not dreaming. Open your eyes, silly; the waking world's full of nice things, too, I promise."

More sticks, gently combing at his cheek. He opens his eyes.

He knows the face of the girl looking down at him, and he knows that he knows her name, but his mind feels heavy, too heavy to wield, and the name isn't coming. With oddly muted embarrassment, he realizes his head's been lying in her lap. When he tries to straighten, to pull away, she hums and cups his cheeks. "No, you're alright. Don't worry." The sticks--no, her fingers, rub under his chin. His eyes fall shut again, all on their own. He hears himself make a pleased, throaty noise. 

...how is it he feels this calm? He's letting someone touch him. He. Doesn't want her to stop.    
  
"Nymph magic, baby. It's my job to look after you, you know? Oh, big guy. You're so sweet, you know that? You've got a big sweet heart."    


What? No, he doesn't. 

"Yeah-huh, you do." 

With some effort, he makes himself take his head away to snort at her, disagreeing.    
  
"Yeah-huh! Even if you are a grump." 

What even is that? What's that word even mean?

"Tell you later," the girl--Leuce? Is that her name? He thinks it is--opens her mouth enough to show a glimpse of her top row of teeth. It doesn't seem threatening. Her eyes are too full of kindness to pull off 'threatening'. "Come meet my friend! She's been waiting really patiently."

Her hands find his. It feels like this calm has rounded down all his edges, and he allows her to guide him to his feet and around the base of the tree--her tree, right. Now he's beginning to remember. 

Not far at all, well under the implied roof of the tree's arms, a smaller girl stands, waiting. Like Leuce, her shape is human enough, maybe a little rounder than any human sent to him in his hallways, but her hands, her legs and feet--he just  _ has _ to stare.

They're just impossible.

He's half convinced he's still dreaming. 

Leuce's friend giggles, tipping one of her hands up to cover her mouth--but he can still see her mouth, distorted, through the clear and shining water acting as her fingers. 

Her limbs are all water, from shoulders and hips down. He doesn't understand how--that's just not how water  _ works _ . 

"It's cuz it's special water! Here, c'mere," the girl holds out one hand, as round and soft looking as the rest of her, in his direction. "Give it a touch."

He shifts his attention to Leuce--he isn't sure why. He's not sure she'd tell him if this were a trick.

"Oh, that's not true!" Leuce says.    
  
Oh. Right. She can just  _ hear _ his thoughts. How had he managed to forget something so distressing?   
  
"It's not a trick, I promise," the water-girl says in a softer tone. She gives her round little water-hand a shake, clearly trying to increase his interest. "I'll hold still while you touch it, cross my heart." Her other water-hand draws two lines over her chest--or rather the large chunk of dirt acting as her chest. Soft looking stones line her neck and break up the smooth earth of her cheeks. Her eyes are just as green as the closely growing leaves she has instead of hair. 

She's different, like him. More obviously different than Leuce, even. Human shaped, but impossible to mistake _as_ human.

...fine. He'll trust her, just once. 

He must admit to himself, as he steps closer, that her water is very sweet looking; without a doubt the clearest he's ever seen. He assumes it to be cool to the touch. She's such a small girl, he'd have to bend double to reach her, so he chooses to kneel instead. 

He lifts his hand to cradle hers.

...he has no idea how to describe what it is he's feeling. 

It's water. It's definitely water, and he was right, it's at that nice middle place between hot and cold that's easiest to drink. Only it's firm. Not hard, not even as hard as a normal hand would be, because he can see quite clearly she doesn't have any bones or meat inside her. Her hand--and her arm, because now his curiosity has him by the horns and he is testing the give of this not-water stuff with both of his hands, gently pressing up and up the length of her water-arm--has the same kind of...squishy consistency throughout. 

The only comparison he can think to make is that it's like thick, thick blood. Thick blood molded into a set shape, that refuses to come off and smear on his hands. 

"That's kinda funny," the water-girl says. Her voice is just as pretty as the rest of her, though it crinkles around the edge of words in a way he's never heard before. "Our Lord compared it to blood, too. Titan's blood, but still."

...huh. That is a funny opinion to share with a god. 

"Ugh, did he really?" Leuce sighs. "Oh, Hayds; always the romantic."

"Right?" the girl chirps, flashing her teeth. Just as quickly as they're out, she's got them back behind her lips again. Just like with Leuce, he's sure it wasn't meant to be a threat. "Oh, no, no threat! A smile. Have you never...seen a smile before?"    
  
"I have," he says. "As a threat." 

"What? Nooo." She takes one of his hands and cradles it--it looks a bit ridiculous, considering the differences in size. In the material, too, for that matter. "That's different." She strokes at the fur on the back of his palm. "Smiles are different; you'll understand, sometime. You'll get it."    
  
"It's in the eyes, baby," Leuce says. "If they're showing teeth but the eyes are kind? That's a smile." 

...that does make sense.    
  
"See! Ah, Leuce you're so smart." The girl pulls her lips back into a big smile, eyes happy and bright and full of kindness, all directed at Leuce. "But ahh, I'm so silly. I'm Minthe! And if you think my arms look nice, you should take a drink from my river. It's right over there!" She points back out into the open field--

Far too open. He doesn't like looking at it. 

"Oh, that's okay, honey," Minthe says, quickly. She pets his hand again. "We'll go another time! But enough about me! I wanna know about you! Like, did you just get here?"    
  
He nods.    
  
"Wow, like--so you're just settling into this 'dead' stuff, huh?"    
  
What? No.    
  
"Oh, then--" Minthe tucks in her chin, cocks her head to the side and squints past him. "Were you...living on another floor? Before now?"   
  
Again, he nods. "Erebus."

Minthe gasps, as if struck, and drops to her knees in front of him. Beside him, Leuce makes a strangled sound. As far as he can tell, neither of them just hurt themselves--did  _ he _ hurt them? Is it the mention of Erebus causing them pain? 

"That place is terrible!" Minthe cries.    
  
"We're fine, baby," Leuce says, squeezing his arm, "just...upset for you. You never should have been there."   
  
"Never," Minthe echoes. 

Well that's just not true. It's where animals go when they die, and even if he were a man, he wasn't buried with coin or rites. Erebus is where he was always going to end up.

"Nooo, that's not the point." Minthe has shifted to hugging his arm, cheek tucked against his fur. "You shouldn't have been there because it's  _ awful _ , and you deserve better."    
  
"How. How would you know?" he asks. She's only  _ just _ met him.

Minthe sits back, shoulders squared and spine straight. "I can just tell!"    
  
That's not even an answer.    
  
"Really, I can! The shape of your thoughts are super clear, and I don't see _any_ malice in them."   
  
Oh, but he has malice.   
  
"...well, okay, but now you're thinking about it." 

"Mins," Leuce says, reaching across to cup her shoulder, "let it go." 

And just like that, she does; "okay, okay, let's talk about how you got  _ here!" _

Oh, that part's  _ actually _ weird and awful. 

"The man who killed me. Came for me. Bargained wh--with Hades."

Yeah, the confused and uncertain faces he's getting in reply? That's appropriate. And that's not even the worst of it. He hasn't even told them about the lies or all the times the man called him 'friend'.

"Who the hell is this guy?!" Leuce asks.

He shrugs. He can't remember the man's name.

"...I don--I don't get it."

He has to swallow a laugh. He doesn't 'get it', either. And right now, Minthe looks how he's felt since the very start of this mess.

"...you're  _ sure _ he's the same man who killed you?"

He snorts. Does he--or his thoughts, rather--look like he's sure of  _ anything _ anymore?

"Right, sure,  _ fair,  _ but. That's--that's what he told you?"

He nods.

"...and he just. Shows up and starts calling you 'friend'?"

He nods again. Minthe's eyes have gotten huge. Leuce makes a face, mouth and nose wrinkling in disgust.

"How did Hades okay this?" Leuce asks.

"Right?!" Minthe exclaims, her voice rising so high it squeaks. "What is going  _ on _ _?_ Who just. Just casually swings by Erebus on a day trip like it's nothing?"

"Who gets Hades to sign off on his day trip, you mean."

"Ohhh, I wish you could remember the guy's  _ name!"  _ Minthe drags her fingers through the leaves on her scalp. It makes the sharp, cooling scent coming off her all the stronger.

He shrugs for her. If he was told the guy's name, it had to be while he was numb, because he just doesn't remember it. Both Nymphs give him big, sad eyes and he quickly tries to redirect their attention.

"He taught me," he says, aloud. It has to be more distracting than just thinking loudly. If that's even a thing. "To fight--fight better." That's why he was saved at all. His murderer wanted more battles.

"Oh Gods, he's one of  _ those _ heroes!"

Leuce is rubbing her chin, eyes glaring down at the ground. "So this guy; has sway with Hades," she sticks out her thumb, "is a 'battle eternal' nut," index finger out, "and, what did you say he looked like? Blond?"

He didn't get to his looks, but that's a good guess. He nods.

"Did he use any titles? Like 'King', maybe."

He nods again. Minthe jerks, eyes going wide, hands jumping to cover her mouth. "Nooo. You don't think--"

"Did he talk way too much?" Leuce asks.

He nods again. So much, so loud. All the teeth.

"Theseus?!" Minthe squeaks.

"It sounds like Theseus."

"But--I-- _ why _ ?"

"Why does he do anything?"

"I thought for, like, attention?! But. But this is just…" Minthe trails off, her big eyes staring off into the distance, her mouth left hanging open.

"This is the second nicest thing he's maybe ever done," Leuce finishes for her. "But it's still for  _ all _ the wrong reasons."

"Yeah," Minthe says, voice gone small.

"What's the first. Nice. Thing?" 'First', 'nice' and 'thing'; all words his mouth  _ hates _ making. But he tries. It doesn't sound the best, but it does get Leuce's eyes to crinkle in that pleased way and Minthe to smile. That makes it worth the effort.

"He made sure a friend would have a proper burial," Leuce says.

"Like, an  _ actual _ friend, not like--"

"Yeah, not 'self-imposed' friendship like he tried on you."

Minthe clasps her hands over her chest, tipping to lean heavily against Leuce, eyes turned up towards the tree's branches. "It really was sweet, though! And, like, super unpopular."

"Which isn't like him," Leuce adds. "He's so obsessed with appearances. Then he goes and does this stuff." She waves a hand in his direction. He thinks he's being included in 'this stuff'. "I'll bet all the obol in Charon's coffers he didn't think any of it through."   
  
"Why didn't he  _ tell _ us?" Minthe asks. "We could have helped! We--we could have set you up with a nice little home where you could adjust and--and avoid the whole! The stabbing!" 

It's odd hearing someone be more distressed about his situation than he is. 

...wait, he hasn't told her the stabbing part. Did he tell Leuce the stabbing part? He can't remember.

"Oh, I can think of a few reasons," Leuce replies, patting Minthe's hip in a way he thinks must be meant to comfort her. If either heard or saw his thoughts, it doesn't take them off topic.   
  
"Like what!"    
  
"Like...Minny. He hates me."

"Nooo. No one hates you--"   
  
"I tease him, on purpose, hoping he'll hate me so much, he'll stop coming back."

Minthe squints up at Leuce, the creases between her eyes and bracketing her mouth growing deeper. Abruptly, she sits up and swats at Leuce's leg. "Why'd you do that?"    
  
"Because maybe! I didn't like being cuddled up to  _ just _ so some pretty boy can use me as a boost up into Hades' lap!"

"Hades genuinely likes him, though! Oh." Minthe tucks a finger in against her lips. The leaves above her eyes scrunch up and together. "You...don't think he's just using Hayds, do you?"   
  
Leuce snorts. It's a much dryer, throaty sound than what he'd make. "No. He's not  _ that _ good an actor."

"Then--well, so far he's only used Hades' favor to bring an innocent soul," her finger is pointed at him, "out of Erebus!" 

"Inn--innocent? Innocent. Me." He sits back from them both, shaking his head. 

"Nuh-uh, now, I'm not buying any more of that," Leuce says. 

"Yes, you!" Minthe says. "Of course, you; you're a total sweetheart!"    
  
He starts constructing an argument against this--this nonsense, but quickly realizes how stupid that would be. What kind of idiot tries to set the nicest people he's ever known against him?

"That's right, baby." Leuce pets his arm. "It is in your best interest to just let us care all about you."

"No, I want to hear it." 

Leuce turns confused eyes towards Minthe. "What? Why? He's already agreeing with us." 

"But if he doesn't tell us, how can we reassure him?" Minthe asks, hands clasped over her heart--or where a heart would be, since she likely doesn't have one. "Like  _ really _ reassure him, about the specific stuff."    
  
"...You have a point. But only if you want to, big guy. You don't owe us any secrets." 

...all he's ever had are secrets. 

Which wasn't a thought meant to upset either of them, though both girls do the sad eyes and scoot closer to him anyway. He's not even complaining, it just. It wasn't his  _ intention _ . 

"We know, honey." 

It'd be really nice if they could turn off that thought hearing thing. 

"Still sorry." 

"Okay, okay, but like." Again, Minthe straightens and scrunches her face in concentration. "I do think maybe Theseus  _ genuinely _ likes you! And he  _ definitely _ messed up, and did this the totally wrong way! But--"    
  
"Now, wait a second. Big guy?" Leuce turns to him. He straightens, surprised by the sudden shift in attention. "Do  _ you _ want to see this guy again?"   
  
He doesn't know what the Nymphs hear/see from his thoughts, but it makes Minthe wince and Leuce cut her eyes to the shorter girl, seemingly unsurprised by his answer.   
  
"Yeah, uh. He's not coming around here any time soon."   
  
"Yeah, okay, that's fair." Minthe tips forward to pat at his knee. He doesn't stop her when she shifts from that to petting his cheek. "Your comfort comes first, honey. Though," she turns her attention back to Leuce but keeps her fingers working in slow circles against the side of his muzzle, "we should at least tell him that the big guy's safe. He's got to be worried, right?"   
  
Leuce cocks her head to the side, eyes dragging upwards and down again before she says, "we could have Hades tell him."   
  
Minthe swats at Leuce's legs again. "Oh, he'd  _ hate _ that."

"That's why I think we should do it." 

"You're the  _ worst _ ; you just like watching him squirm!" 

"I can't help if he's cute when he squirms."

The conversation drifts on, further from people he knows or subjects he recognizes, but that's okay. He'd rather not talk anymore about all his own issues. He's not used to it; it's kind of exhausting. It's nice enough, just being near the girls. 

It's nice knowing they're alright with him listening. That they like him at all.  
  
It's nice, here.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I intend to draw both Leuce and Minthe because I love them. Hell, I'd love to draw Hippolyta, Antigone and Oedipus, too, but lol I make no promises. Hand injuries are no joke, friends. Do your stretches.
> 
> Oh by the way, you didn't imagine it, the girls (who are fucking Hades) did imply Theseus is also fucking Hades. Because he is. I'll elaborate on it soon, just. Just look me in the eyes and tell me Hades isn't enamored with Theseus, considering he's always got something to complain about but only ever says nice things about 'The Greatest King of Athens'. Look me in dead in the face and tell me "My Size Kink Is Visible From Space" Theseus wouldn't jump at the chance to service the Lord of his realm. 
> 
> Hades has a thing for blonds ok? Why are you booing im RIGHT


End file.
